35. Letter #3. (2016)

My dear,

As attraction and hesitation paint their stories with the same blood-soaked brush, my mind is a warm, cold, fearless, timid, dauntless wreck;

The peace and calm I feel are pushily urgent, and the weight of wanting makes my veins feel coursed with something unnatural.

It all rests neatly, for now, underneath a limitless excitement for something I had nearly disallowed, with someone I had clearly misread;

I enjoy my mistakes in judgement, on the rare occasion that they prove otherwise in my favor.

My temperature changes before a complete image of you has even formed in my mind;

It is palpable, even though you are miles away, and merely our hands have touched.

It is relevant, because distance lessens force, and familiarity breeds comfort;

We are distant, and unfamiliar, and yet I feel forceful, and comfortable.